


A Curse of Curiosity

by godofhammers (kishafisha)



Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Demons, M/M, Witches, individual chapter warnings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-07
Updated: 2019-07-06
Packaged: 2020-06-23 18:15:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19706824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kishafisha/pseuds/godofhammers
Summary: The moral of the story is:nevercross a witch.





	A Curse of Curiosity

**Author's Note:**

> This silly thing is my guilty pleasure in between more serious things. Whenever I'm frustrated or otherwise at a loss for words on my main projects, I pop it open and add a few more paragraphs. Now that it's long enough to constitute a proper chapter, I offer it to you, my lovelies. As always, my chapter warnings are in the end notes.
> 
> Many thanks to [hazecraves](http://www.archiveofourown.com/users/hazecraves) for the beta read and for being amused with me.

Loki supposed he ought not to be terribly surprised that his relationship with the Grandmaster ended on his knees, seeing how it had begun that way. He’d met the demon while using wicked smiles and sleight of hand to hustle free drinks at the blight of Birmingham: the Resorts World Casino. If questioned, Loki would have to admit that he had no clear explanation for what he’d even been doing there that night, considering that he’d complained at length during the entirety of its construction. Likely his fairly recent, and still smarting, separation from one Stephen Strange had played a factor in the choice, but it was more surely the knowledge that absolutely no one who knew Loki would have thought to look for him there.

He hadn’t noticed the Grandmaster’s attention on him right away, caught up in the noise and colour and heady intoxication of playing the crowd, basking in the brief adulation of his drunken admirers. It was by chance that Loki’s gaze had been drawn to ancient, kohl-rimmed eyes and when the Grandmaster winked at him, Loki knew with a sudden, burning surety that he would fuck the man before the night was spent.

It took but a few minutes flirtation between them to secure an invitation up to the _Salles Privees_ , the private gaming suites reserved for high-end players, where the charming demon was welcomed with wide grins and greedy eyes, the reason for which was immediately clear. The Grandmaster was a demon of luck and where he went, fortune followed. Being that close to that much power was far more intoxicating than anything handed to him in a glass and his coquettish smiles degenerated to the outright lewd as the night progressed. By the time the Grandmaster had shown him to the private lift for the Presidential suite, Loki had decided he’d waited long enough.

The Grandmaster had laughed, delighted by his boldness when Loki halted the lift and sank to his knees, wasting no time in pulling open layers of expensive, flamboyant clothing to take him in his mouth. It had been but the start to a night of intense pleasure as the Grandmaster took him first in the lift, bent over and gripping the handrail, then again pressed to the wall of glass that looked out from the penthouse onto the glittering harbour where anyone might see him. Lastly he’d laid him out on sheets of some absurd thread count to fuck him with deliberate slowness until Loki was trembling with the effort to stay conscious. It was so overwhelming and richly satisfying that Loki swore to never again to trouble himself with mortal men. And when the Grandmaster had invited Loki to accompany him to London the following morning, he agreed without hesitation.

What followed were some eighteen months of decadence and greed as the Grandmaster swept him off to Paris and Monte Carlo, then across the pond to Reno, Vegas and Atlantic City. In Singapore they met with another demon who called himself the Collector and who the Grandmaster called brother and Loki could recall only a little of the week he’d spent entangled between the two, drunk on power and pleasure. After their first year together, the Grandmaster had surprised Loki with the security feed from the lift of the Birmingham casino and realized he’d been deliberately arranged by the demon to provide a decent video. He told himself it was a sign of affection, a gift to mark their unspoken anniversary even as they started to settle into somewhat of a routine.

Kneeling before the demon that first night had given Loki such a rush of power, to know that he could bring pleasure to the immortal creature as the Grandmaster stroked at his face and told him how remarkable he was, how beautiful and adored. Now, kneeling in the back of the Grandmaster’s ostentatious car with his head in the demon’s lap and one hand set listlessly in his hair, Loki didn’t feel powerful. He felt _cheap_.

Shifting a little beneath Loki’s attentive mouth, the Grandmaster let out a small breath like a sigh and his hand disappeared, to be replaced by the soft sound of thumbs tapping against a screen. Enraged, Loki pulled away from the demon’s cock and glared at the sheer, bloody _nerve_. “I’m sorry, is my cock sucking interfering with your _bloody texting_?” he snarled, swiping a hand across his mouth.

Startled, the Grandmaster shot him a brief, guilty look and gestured at his phone. “No, of course not! I just need to post this Tweet-“

“You’re on _Twitter?_ ” Loki demanded, incredulous. “Pull over.”

“Sere, baby…” the Grandmaster protested, but Topaz was already cutting over to the curb. “Don’t be like that! Look, I’m putting it away.” He made a show of slipping his phone into the pocket of his electric blue blazer, holding up his hands to show that they were now empty. “There, you see?”

“Oh, how very _magnanimous_ of you,” Loki seethed. “Perhaps you’ve forgotten, but I’m not a _toy_ with whom you can play or ignore on a whim.”

Taken aback, the demon cocked his head slightly. “Aren’t you?” he wondered and to Loki’s extreme consternation, he sounded genuinely curious.

“ _No,_ ” Loki said through his teeth, his magic boiling under his skin in his anger. “I am decidedly _not_. We’ve been at this for a _year and a half_.”

“Have we? Hm…is that a long time?” the demon asked, though he directed the question toward his driver. Topaz shrugged disinterestedly in answer and tapped impatiently at the steering wheel, eager to get on with it.

“It is to _me_!” Loki snarled at him, fisting his hands on his thighs until his short nails dug bright points of pain into his palms.

The Grandmaster’s expression softened into patronizing fondness and he reached out to touch Loki’s cheek. “Of course it is. And we’ve had a lot of fun together, haven’t we? Of all my darlings, you’re my favourite.”

Loki pulled away from the touch like he’d been burned, shocked and furious. “I beg your pardon? Precisely how many… _darlings_ are you currently entertaining?”

Blinking a bit, the Grandmaster considered the question. “I’m not sure…Topaz? How many darlings do I have right now?”

“Five,” she replied flatly.

“Five,” he repeated in satisfaction, smiling at Loki. “So let’s put this behind us and go have a nice dinner. I’ll even let you finish with this at the restaurant, if you like.” The Grandmaster gestured at his lap where he was still exposed from Loki’s earlier focus.

A throb of hurt twisted in his chest beneath the building rage, so livid that bile burned at his throat at the realization of his utter blindness. Swept up as he was by his anger, he gathered his magic to him, the credence thrumming in his voice when he opened his mouth to speak the demon’s name, “ _En-_ “

The change was immediate and severe as the Grandmaster’s expression went cold and hard, his hand grasping around the haft of a golden staff where before there’d been only open air. Air rushed from Loki’s lungs as the weight of the demon’s magic slammed him to the floor of the vehicle, knocking the wind from him as it held his body immobile. What light came in the tinted windows seemed to grow even dimmer as the staff glowed, a match for the Grandmaster’s ancient eyes.

“You would dare use my name against me?” the demon murmured, his tone soft and almost pleasant. “After all that I’ve done? I’ve given you everything you’ve asked of me. You want for nothing.”

“… _used_ me…” Loki managed to gasp out as he fought uselessly against the greater strength of the Grandmaster’s power.

“You asked for that, too,” he said plainly and leaned forward to look down at him with a placid expression. “Were you not my favourite, I would eat you.” It was stated so simply that Loki felt a real thread of fear go through him, so that he scrambled for the door as soon as the Grandmaster released his hold, nearly falling out onto the pavement in his haste. “Are you sure you wouldn’t rather stay?”

Loki looked back at the demon incredulously and found the Grandmaster watching him wistfully, a hopeful smile lighting upon his lips. Beyond words, Loki slammed the door between them so violently that he found it infuriating to see the expensive car utterly unaffected by the effort. Feeling eyes on him, Loki looked to see that Topaz had lowered her window and was watching him from the driver’s seat. Once she knew she had his attention, the woman smirked in satisfaction and muttered a single word before pulling back into traffic.

“Trash.”

Two hours and nearly two hundred quid later, Loki’s mood had, unsurprisingly, not improved.

It might not have taken quite so long to make his way home if he’d given in to what little public transit Birmingham had to offer, but Loki would be damned before he got on a _bus_ on top of his already horrid day. For one, he was hardly kitted out for it, given that he’d dressed for the Grandmaster, just as he’d done for most of the past eighteen months. Bright, jewel tones in shiny fabrics that were just a touch too tight, impractical and showy in all the worst ways. Catching a reflection of himself in a shop window as he stood fuming and directionless on the pavement, Loki had thought of Topaz’s parting jibe and wanted nothing more than to rip the offending garments off. He looked _kept._

Hiring a car had been the only thing for it, however it grated on Loki to wait for its arrival. Not one, but _several_ gentlemen had paused as though to chat him up while he waited, but his expression only became more violent with each passing moment. At what point in his life had he started presenting himself as a _rent boy?_

The driver had been dismissive and insolent in all the worst ways when he finally showed up and Loki was on the verge of grinding his teeth smooth by the time he’d reached his destination. If pressed, he might admit that it was probably unwise to have placed a minor hex on the sod when he’d finally escaped. It felt worth it at the time, but he would likely feel differently when it came back at him threefold.

Glaring at the car until it drove off, Loki waited a full minute to ensure it wouldn’t double back around before turning the corner to go down a block and over to the house he still considered home, despite how often he was away from it. It was brick, dual level and had been built in the 20s, as had nearly every one of his neighbours within a quarter-mile radius; but unlike its fellows, the house was so covered in ivy that one could barely make out the terracotta coloured masonry. A newer brick wall had also been constructed in a clear boundary about the property, as though in an attempt to contain the wild sprawl of nature that lurked within the border it provided. It looked like the sort of place that a witch might live and it was.

“Loren!” a voice called in greeting and Loki sighed, because of _course_ he couldn’t just make it to his own front door without being accosted. “I thought that was you!” Though he hadn’t slowed his pace or turned to acknowledge his neighbour in _any_ way, the man came jogging up to walk alongside him, clearly having just finished a run. In the late afternoon heat, Loki could smell his damned sweat and hated that it wasn’t wholly displeasing.

“So it is,” he said flatly and glanced at the man, whose grin was broad and friendly as always. Loki didn’t think Donald had ever met a person he didn’t like, which was probably why he had never bothered to develop any sense of _boundaries_. Both of these traits were such that Loki typically attested to _dogs_.

Donald was taller and broader than Loki and clearly involved in some form of medicine given the number of times he’d seen the man in scrubs over the last few years. Given his groomed beard and long, blond hair, usually bound in a folded tail, Loki doubted the particulars of his career were wholly professional and suspected he instead did something entirely frivolous. Medicinal yoga, perhaps.

“I thought Helen mentioned that you were on your way out of town,” Donald asked without actually phrasing his words as a question. He had an odd sort of accent that made his origin nearly impossible to place, much in the way of expats who spent too many years in too many locales.

Jaw tight with displeasure, Loki ground out, “Plans changed,” and hoped that the ice in his tone was enough to discourage any further line of inquiry on the subject.

Not at all put off by Loki’s clear disinterest in conversation, Donald nodded idly and then pulled up the bottom edge of his t-shirt to clear the sheen of sweat from his face and Loki hated himself for looking at the perfect lines of the man’s abdomen. However mundane his neighbour and his job were sure to be, Donald was built like a deity and that fact was entirely unacceptable at this current point in time. Despite the unpleasantness of his afternoon, Loki was still rather keyed up from his interrupted intimacy with the Grandmaster. It bothered him to think that the revelation of having spent the last eighteen months as someone’s _favourite convenient_ _fuck_ did not appear to deter his libido.

“Well it’s good to have you back,” Donald said agreeably and gave Loki another broad smile that he’d done nothing to deserve. They passed his house, which looked obscenely ordinary beside Loki’s, and the man broke away from him with a wave. “See you, Loren!”

Without deigning to respond, Loki shoved open his gate and loosed his magic to slam it shut behind him in a fit of pique, marching up the walk to get well away from overly friendly neighbours. Stepping through his front door, he immediately let his body slump back against the heavy oak panel and took little comfort in the familiar web of wards at his back. The landing was empty and dimly lit from the heavy curtains that kept the house in a perpetual state of gloom and much as that suited his mood, Loki still glared at it all.

Damn Donald. Damn Donald and drivers and three-thousand year old demons who looked at Loki and saw him for anything other than what he truly was. It hardly mattered that his false identities were of his own construction.

Names had power and any witch worth their circle of salt knew better than to use their true name in their day to day lives. In the everyday, Loki lived as Loren Olson, a seemingly average person who owned one half of a used book store. _The World Tree_ did manage to bring in a little revenue in the sale of literature, and especially when dealing in rare books, but the primary source of income came from the apothecary on the second landing. Up until his dalliance with the Grandmaster, Loki had spent the majority of his time selling spells, charms and tinctures out of the apothecary for those who knew to seek his services there.

For the Grandmaster, he hadn’t been Loren, but _Serrure_ , which had somehow seemed impressive and intriguing in a haze of alcohol and the gaudy glare of casino lights. The Grandmaster had laughed and seemed utterly charmed by the moniker, though he rarely called Loki by it. Usually he was ‘Sere’ or ‘baby’ or any number of endearments that were purred, whispered, or moaned. Over the course of their relationship, the demon had, in turn, given Loki _two_ of his names. His _true_ names.

En Dwi.

He had, foolishly, thought it a sign of trust and affection for the demon to do so, had shivered at the thrill of the power he could wield with the knowledge. It never occurred to Loki that the Grandmaster simply did not even think to consider him a threat.

“ _Damn_ him,” Loki snarled into the landing, slamming his fist back against the door and feeling the wards spark in answer. He could still _taste_ the demon on his tongue, still scent him on his skin; champagne and cardamom and the faintest trace of sulphur. Wishing that the sense memory made him sick, Loki made for the kitchen and pulled open the cupboards to see what cordials he had on hand to burn away lingering flavour of embitterment.

Loki was well into his elixir of valerian and mint by the time she came upon him.

“Well,” Hela said critically, arching an eyebrow. “I suppose this means Milan is out of the picture.”

“Please do sod off, hag,” Loki growled at his twin and threw back the aperitif as though it were a shot. The elixir was intended to be savoured slowly, preferably as a nightcap given the sedative properties of valerian, but Loki couldn’t be fussed just then.

“I’ll admit, this took longer than I would have expected,” she purred with gleeful malice, folding her arms as she took in the sight of him. “Pity. That one came with such lovely benefits.”

“How terribly inconvenient for you,” he spat, glaring balefully at her. “Haven’t you got some children to kidnap for a pie?”

It was not uncommon for witches to be born in pairs, but while most twins would draw upon one another for greater strength, Loki and Hela had spent the majority of their lives tormenting one another. It was little wonder that they had elected to live together as Helen and Loren Olson, given that the nicest thing they ever managed to say to one another was ‘pass the salt’.

Pulling out her mobile, Hela began tapping away at it with a mocking smile. “And miss the chance to comfort my poor, jilted baby brother? Perish the thought,” she commented idly, and her phone gave a faint ‘whoosh’ as she sent off a text. After a few moments, it chimed back at her and she hummed in satisfaction. “Well, this has been lovely, but I’ve got to pack.”

“ _Pack?_ ” Loki demanded indignantly, following after Hela as she headed up to her room, adjacent to his own on the second landing. “And where is it you think you’re going?”

“France, I should think. Or perhaps Belgium. Certainly I’ll want to go somewhere I won’t have to bear witness to you flagellating in your mire of self-pity,” Hela said blithely as she began placing a number of black garments into an equally black rolling case. “It’s a terrible sight that no one should have to suffer through.”

“I do _not_...flagellate!” Loki protested, glaring at her and bracing himself against the door as the room tilted just a little.

“Do you not remember the days that followed Anthony? Or Bruce? Lucky you met your Grandmaster so quickly after Stephen’s departure. Not that you could even rebound properly.”

Loki was distracted from rebuffing her _baseless_ accusations by the annoying snarl of a motor just outside. Moving gracelessly to the window in the hall, he glared out of it, already knowing what he would find. “You’re leaving with _Skurge?_ Hela, that man is abominable.”

“Skurge serves a singular purpose,” Hela said dismissively, pulling at the zip on her bag and picking it up. “And he serves it adequately enough that I feel no need to replace him, as of yet.” Stepping close to him, Hela patted her brother’s cheek condescendingly. “It’s much less mess if you don’t insist upon caring for them quite so much.”

Slapping away her hand, Loki glared at his sister, gritting his teeth. “Seems you must be off. Do be sure to send a card,” he bit out sarcastically.

“Oh, I shall,” Hela replied with a smirk and shut the door to her bedroom. She carried her case downstairs and Loki followed at her heels to watch in disgust as she opened the door to her awful companion so that he could retrieve the bag from her. Turning toward her brother, Hela caught Loki by the chin and shook him lightly, as though he were a naughty child. “Stay _out_ of my room whilst I am away.”

Pulling away from her touch with an irritated sound, Loki’s lip curled disdainfully. “I haven’t the least interest in what horrors you’ve got tucked away in your cupboards.”

“Hm. Well you can’t say I haven’t warned you,” Hela cautioned with a knowing smile. She turned to go, lifting a hand to dance her fingers in mockery of a wave as she did so. “Mind the old admonition about curiosity, my dear brother.” The sound of the door slamming back into its frame helped to muffle her mocking laughter.

Hela was, without question, the _worst_.

It was some time after the departing rumble of Skurge’s absurd muscle car that Loki found himself glaring at his own reflection for lack of a sister. After several long, alcohol-hazed moments he realized that he was still garbed in the gaudy, close-fitting garments and bared his teeth in a feral snarl. With a sharp _crack_ the mirror surface fractured, but Loki couldn’t be buggered to consider the omen just then. Charging back upstairs on less than steady legs, he burst into his largely disused and rather stale bedroom. With little regard to the antiquity of his wardrobe, he jerked opened the dark, polished doors and glared in at its contents.

The dark clothing he preferred, accented occasionally with verdant greens and deep gold, were shoved to one side and grossly overshadowed by their flamboyant neighbours. Grabbing at the offending items, he heaved the lot out onto his bed, making a pile of silk, linen and fine wool across his duvet. They had been the Grandmasters gifts; pretty wrappings for a pretty _pet_ and Loki would be damned if they stayed in his house a moment longer. Once he’d decimated the wardrobe, he did the same to his chest of drawers, adding absolutely every clothing item that had been gifted to him, down to the last cufflink.

Casting a glance about the room to ensure he’d left no trace of the demon behind, he gathered up the duvet around the pile and hauled it off the bed and out of his room, tugging it carelessly down the steps. Loki paused at the bottom of the stairs as he debated whether or not to take it to the bins out front, but decided that might invite unwanted inquiry from his neighbours and dragged it out into the back garden instead. A series of soft, rhythmic grunts came from over the wall, suggesting that Donald moved his fitness regime to his own garden, but Loki paid this little mind, knowing the wall and his unkempt trees were enough to keep away most prying eyes.

Panting from drink and exertion once he’d reached his goal, Loki heaved the bag into the crude fire circle he and his sister used for various ritual magic. Glaring balefully at the lot, he ripped at last at the clothes still tight against his own skin, popping buttons in his violent need to be rid of them. Once he’d stripped down to his pants, he pointed his first and fourth finger at the cluster of frippery before him. Angry as he was, it took only a moment’s concentration before his magic lashed out like a whip, setting the pile alight, the intensity of the flame driving him back a step.

A clatter of metal signalled the abrupt end of whatever workout Donald had been occupying himself with and Loki sighed in irritation when he heard the man call out, “Loren? Are you burning something?”

“Bang on,” he growled under his breath, watching the dancing flames before him.

A scuffing sound drew Loki’s eyes to the garden wall, where they widened incredulously to see Donald heave himself up with seemingly effortless grace to sit atop it. “You know I’m signed on to the volunteer fire brigade. If you want a burn permit, you just need to-“ His lecture cut off as he caught sight of Loki, leaving him looking rather like he’d been struck dumb.

Loki’s ire faded somewhat as he watched the man’s eyes sink down the length of his body, very nearly preening at the attention. Perhaps there was still some measure of his pride to be saved from this altogether rotten day, for Loki didn’t think he imagined that Donald’s gaze was less than neighbourly. It was all too easy to imagine inviting the man inside to discover whether his lovely sun-kissed skin, beaded with perspiration and flushed from exertion, tasted as good as it looked. His cock began to perk up as he deliberated over whether his kitchen island was the proper height for a quick, hard fuck and Loki smirked to see the bob of Donald’s throat as he swallowed.

Hands on his hips, Loki tilted his head and arched an eyebrow critically at his neighbour. “Yes, Donald? You were saying?”

Donald’s eyes snapped back up to meet Loki’s and he flushed. “I- T-that is-“ Something in Loki’s manner must have given away his earlier imbibing because his neighbour’s brow furrowed suddenly as he declared, “You’ve been drinking.”

Lips pursing in annoyance, Loki lifted his chin slightly in challenge. “I may have had a nip. What of it?”

“What of it?” Donald repeated with a bit of incredulity, gesturing vaguely toward him. “Loren, in case you’ve missed it, you’re in naught but your pants and have set _fire_ to your damned garden!”

“Oh, well spotted, Donald. How _would_ I manage without your heroic intervention?” Loki bit out sarcastically, though he did reign in his magic enough that the flames died down to a more controlled burn. “Though I should thank you for the reminder. I very nearly forgot the pants.” Hooking his thumbs through the waist, he pushed the last article of clothing down and off, tossing the silky blue briefs onto the burning heap.

Though Loki could hear the way Donald’s breath hitched, he was unsurprised to find that his neighbour was looking intently anywhere but at his bared flesh. Damn the man anyway. Stretching unabashedly, Loki turned leisurely on his heel and sauntered back into the house on what he hoped was a steady gait. He at least managed not to bash any of his appendages on either the steps or the doorframe. Leaving the back door open in invitation, Loki leaned up against the counter to wait and see what Donald would do.

Because Donald was an absolute _dullard_ , he hopped down into the garden to see to the fire Loki had left burning in the pit, carefully stamping out the smouldering garments. He took his time in doing it, making sure there would be no chance of rekindling before he even thought to glance toward the house. Concealed as he was in the shadows, Loki’s pulse quickened when Donald hesitated, then turned fully and started for the door. He watched Donald’s cautious approach with bated breath, anticipation thrumming through him in a seemingly direct line to his cock, despite how the man annoyed him. As Donald’s hand, broad and tanned, touched the door, their eyes met even through the gloom of Loki’s darkened home.

For just a moment all was still and Loki could swear that he saw the meagre distance between them all but _shimmer_ with heat as Donald’s eyes dipped for just a moment, trailing over the shadowed length of him. Then, with a bracing breath and slow determination, Donald pulled the door shut, leaving Loki alone in the dark.

Fuck. _Fuck_.

Loki was _pathetic._

Was he really so eager for help in licking his wounds that he’d actually tried to land someone called _Donald?_ Americans had quite successfully managed to remove any sex appeal associated with the name through equally unintelligible animated water fowl and reality television presidents in turn. Loki was, frankly, not nearly pissed enough to deal with the sting of rejection topping off this spectacularly shit day.

With a sharp glare and a less than graceful sweep of his arm, the cabinets all banged open, cracking the plaster where the doors slammed against the wall, rattling the glassware within warningly. Rather more carefully, Loki lifted his preferred reservoir glass from one of the shelves, finding the flat, elegantly slotted spoon that accompanied it to lay atop the opening. Having no one to impress, Loki forewent the beautiful antique fountain he so adored for a simple carafe that would suit his purposes just as well. It wasn’t until after he’d filled the carafe from the tap, then chilled it with Word and Will, that Loki realized he’d not seen the absinthe in among the cordials earlier.

Cursing himself a fool, he swept through the cabinets again to be sure, going so far as to check the barren pantry, which rarely held more than the occasional bag of crisps. Given that neither he, nor Hela, held any interest in the culinary arts, there was never much in the way foodstuffs on hand, which should have made it easy to find the bottle of Swiss absinthe that Loki was _certain_ should be there. One might argue that seeking out a drink known for leaving one with a clear mind was the opposite of what he was looking for, but being contrary was likely part of his nature.

“Hela,” he growled to himself when his search turned fruitless and he glared upward, as though he could see the pilfered bottle through the walls.

Of _course_ his twin would have hidden the bottle away in her room just to spite him. In fact, Loki found it entirely likely that she would have done precisely in anticipation of the seemingly inevitable implosion of his relationship. After all, she was a wretched _slattern_ who loved nothing so much as Loki’s discomfit. Squaring his shoulders with a wordless, irascible snarl, Loki marched back up the stairs determinedly, ignoring the way his body weaved as though the house were moored at sea. Glaring fiercely at Hela’s door as though it had personally offended him, Loki crossed the upper landing and gripped the handle firmly. He hissed as her personal wards burned at his hand, feeling as though the flesh were searing away where his palm pressed to the brass knob. Hela had always been the stronger between them, but Loki was cleverer by far and it took but a few moments and some sharp gestures with his free hand before the burning ceased and he was able to shove the door open fully.

Shaking out his blistered hand, Loki blew a stream of icy breath over the surface and glared into Hela’s room, the pain and adrenaline leaving him rather more sober than he’d been a minute ago. “Stay out of my room whilst I am away,” he chimed mockingly, pulling a face. “Stupid cow.”

It was difficult to guess whether he would have screamed or cursed himself a fool when the curse slammed into him, for Loki’s breath left him for the second time that day as he crossed the threshold into Hela’s room. It hardly mattered, for neither would have been particularly helpful just then as the magic tumbled upon him, twisting his bones and flesh and hair until he knew only pain. The floor rushed up to meet him as he seemed to fall and fall and fall, but Loki was already blind to it as he succumbed gladly to oblivion and knew no more.

There was a fly in the house, though to Loki’s ears it may as well have been an aeroplane for the way the vibration of tiny insect wings needled into his aching skull. Mewling pitifully, he rolled his tender body onto his back, grounding himself on the somewhat dusty hardwood floor that he’d apparently passed out on. Lovely. Everything was so horribly _loud_ that Loki did not dare open his eyes, though scents came just as sharply, leaving him panting shortly through his mouth to compensate.

He felt _wretched_ and while some could argue that this was likely due wholly to his own poor decisions in alcohol consumption, Loki had decided to lay the blame utterly upon _Hela_. Whatever curse she had booby-trapped her damned doorway with had been _completely_ uncalled for and clearly the only suitable response was fratricide. For a few minutes Loki lay there and imagined all the ways in which he could murder his twin before he finally cracked his eyes open, only to slam them shut again at once.

His brief glimpse of the world had been…wrong. As though the world were distended up and away from him, fuzzed about the edges and oddly desaturated. Shaking his head a little to clear it, he tried opening them more slowly this time, but to no avail. Whatever Hela’s curse had done, it was clearly still affecting him. With a growl, he lifted a hand to rub at his eyes and jerked in surprise when an enormous black paw swung into view.

Almost with a mind of its own, his body bolted, limbs swinging about wildly as he flipped onto his front and scrambled out of the room on his hands and feet. Trying to push himself upright, his body twisted oddly, feet slipping on the polished hardwood and then he was somehow tumbling through the banister, whose slats now gaped wide about him. Instinct had his body twisting, but Loki’s panic could hardly make sense of it, an animalistic scream tearing out of him when he hit the ground level with a sickening snap. Dislodged by his fall, the mirror Loki had cracked the night before gave up its post entirely and went crashing down across from him, a thousand silvery shards scattering about the floor.

Lying immobile there, Loki panted through the pain arcing along his arm and tried to make sense of what was happening to him. Body tensed and hunched, yet somehow ready to spring into motion again, he slowly shifted his eyes toward the ruin of the mirror and stared at the reflection cast back at him a thousand-fold. Not the reflection of a witch he might have expected, pale and proud and sharp-featured as he’d been just hours before. Not the reflection of a man at all.

Huddled in the mirror shards, his wide, green eyes staring accusingly back at Loki, was a small, black cat.

**Author's Note:**

> Chapter warnings: Oral sex, mentions of past Grandmaster/Loki and Grandmaster/Collector/Loki, non-explicit mentions of past Loki/Strange, Loki/Tony and Loki/Bruce (not at the same time), inebriation, unhealthy relationships, infidelity, disparaging thoughts/remarks towards sex workers, unaddressed self-esteem/self-worth issues, curse damage and forced animal transformation.


End file.
